


His Touch of Gold

by neeash



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, Demons, Insecurity, M/M, Warlock Culture, fluff somewhat, freewheeling italic user, occurs between season 2 and season 3, slight asmodeus, slight immortality issue if you squint, trust issues somewhat, warlock battle, writing magnus' past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neeash/pseuds/neeash
Summary: Shadowhunters are getting attacked and the enemy is someone linked to Magnus, but Alec needs his help so of course Magnus helps him. But that's not always the best idea, for his sanity that is./where magnus has a warlock battle with someone he knows and bad and sad things happen but he always has alec right?/





	His Touch of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> #SaveShadowhunters

**His Touch of Gold  
**

 

The leather chair was bred from material that ensured sophisticated postures and primness, appropriately designed for the Head of the New York Institute but Alec was spoilt by the cloud like mattress in Magnus’ loft, having spent many nights in it so more often than not, he found himself squirming in discomfort, his anatomy incongruous to the seat. Perhaps if he pilfered one of those memory foam pillows from Magnus’ sofa, comfort wouldn’t be such a scarce feature in the office. Or Alec could just substitute his desk for the king-sized bed-

                  “Alec! _Ohhhh_ Alec.”

                  Jace sauntered in the room like the closed door was a mirage, slapping papers on the desk; mindless of the systematic format Alec had laid out on the surface, ergo razing the structure. Alec would have sighed, but he was all out of them and it was only two o’clock so it was credible to note that today had been a stressful one. He dragged his eyes up to his brother. “I thought I told you to knock before you come in.”

                  A scoff coughed out of Jace’s throat, his lips caught on the verge of a smirk. “I’m your _parabatai_ , Alec. We don’t knock.”

                  “I’m your superior, Jace.”

                  “And when have I ever given a fuck about rules?” Jace retorted not unkindly, heterochromatic eyes ablaze with mirth as he bantered with his brother. It seemed not even being the master of the house was going to get Jace completely subservient, but Alec could only hope it didn’t come to bite him in the ass. At least not this week.

With a lackadaisical eye-roll, Alec plucked the missives from the desk that Jace had unceremoniously thrown and skimmed through them. The dead trees in his hand crinkled underneath the pressure of his fingers, looking like wrinkles of an elderly person’s forehead. “This is about the _Phantom Feeford_ …It’s a warlock?”

Nodding once, Jace slammed one palm on the wooden table to support the odd stance he was holding as he talked, “yeah. Izzy analysed Denny’s arm- the part that was injured- with some science liquid thing, poked him a couple of times with a sharp stick, knocked him out and low and behold. We got a merlin.”

It seemed as though Alec wasn’t out of sighs as one whistled out from pursed lips, his back aching now. God, he just wanted to cuddle up to Magnus and sleep. “Well, this certainly complicates things.”

“How so, bro? Wait, is there some trouble in paradise? Do I need to go over there and knock Brooklyn’s finest magician around a bit?”

Alec held up a twitching hand and staunchly said, “no... You couldn’t win anyway, dumbass.” He quickly carried on before Jace could intercept with a counter argument that he did not want to hear. “Look, the Downworld Cabinet meetings are going well, at least I thought they were. Now that I know that it’s a warlock behind these attacks and not one of Azazel’s underlings, I’m going to have to bring it up with Magnus and it’s only going to demonstrate to the Clave that I am, as they are guaranteed to be longing for, _lacking control_.”

“That’s not fair, Alec,” Jace clucked, clear empathetic vexation lining his features. “You’ve done so much more than those prestigious fuckers give you credit for. Wayward warlocks aren’t your fault.”

“They are. The entire Downworld is under my jurisdiction and I am meant to keep everything under control. But anyway, I don’t need the praise. I just need to do my job.”

Jace looked at his brother, pensively. “Still sucks though.”

“It _does_ suck,” Alec agreed slowly, letting the words crawl out of his mouth like viscous, melted chocolate as he scanned back over the letters.

“ _Like you_.”

“Shut the door on your way out, Jace.”

 

***

Magnus was lounging on the Persian rug in his diaphanous robe, flicking through social media on his phone when he got the call from Alec that he was coming over, albeit with dinner since evening was creeping up on them like how trees loomed over one in a forest. Since his client appointments had significantly decreased when he was announced High Warlock, Magnus sifted through hobbies like wildfire and was currently addicted to Twitter, absently wondering whether he could goad Alec into making one.

                  A clutter of door hinges and plastic bags rustling stole Magnus out of reverie as he jumped up, feet padding across the floor until he reached his destination. He couldn’t contain the automatic smile that stretched his mouth into a pronounced right bracket upon seeing his boyfriend, all tall limbs and pale skin daubed with black ink. The material of Alec’s black slacks tightened around his thick thighs like a vice as he attempted to toe off his boots while leaning down to greet Magnus with a kiss, and the latter found himself breathing giggles into Alec’s mouth, running his ringed hands up his blazer clad arms before pulling away.

                  “Hello, beautiful.”

                  Alec smiled, scintillating hazel eyes accenting the green in them. “Hi, yourself.”

                  “Uh huh, stop with that look,” Magnus accused playfully, retrieving the takeout bags from Alec’s grasp in a swift motion. “I’m too hungry to have sex.”

                  “I never said anything like that,” mumbled Alec almost petulantly while he finally finished with removing his shoes, hanging his jacket up on the coat rack and setting his bow and quiver on the ‘table of miscellany.’

                  Magnus spoke as he laid out the food on the dining table. “You didn’t have to, honey. I know what you’re thinking. I’m a warlock, remember?”

                  “Warlocks can’t read minds.”

                  “We say that to throw you off. It’s a simple rouse.” Magnus waved a hand gracefully through the air, cutting through particles as he carried on with his teasing, tone a lilt of sardonic resolution. “See Alexander, the only way a trump card remains as a trump card is if it is kept a secret.”

                  “…Just pass me the rice.”

                  Cordial conversation passed like the healthy flow of a current that danced back and forth, words spilled from lips like how water slipped through fingers and laughter as conspicuously protruding like the boulders that curtailed the torrents of waterfalls.

As Magnus spent time with Alec, the familiar thrum of warmth wedged between his epidermis and it made him feel that sort of heat that couldn’t be native to anything but love. It wasn’t one of sexual arousal or a fever, or perhaps it was a concoction of everything above and _more_.

He didn’t have to bare his veins like he did for Camille, spread his legs for those on the precipice of leaving or plead with the universe that he didn’t have to face another exodus. With Alec, things were different and all the same simultaneously. Made Magnus feel wanted, cherished and loved and _there_.  

                  Alec taught him how to trust love again.

                  Love wasn’t the enemy, a fatality or detrimental.

                  _Love is what I feel for you and what you feel for me and that’s metaphysical._

                  After the pair finished with sating their appetites they lay on the sofa with akimbo limbs, leading for Magnus to sprawl awkwardly across Alec’s legs but it was comfortable enough. Perhaps they could have sat down next to each other like the next civilised couple but somehow, it felt more intimate to be so carefree even in such a mundane situation like this one. Magnus for one couldn’t deny the tranquil state that bestowed him when his own ear was pressed against Alec’s chest, able to hear the thud of his heart against his ribcage as the beat played a familiar synchrony, a nameless lullaby that either put Magnus to sleep or kept him up into the dead of nights.

                  Sometimes Magnus felt safe enough for the both of them to be naively lulled to sleep but other times, he was freighted with unbidden apprehension which twisted his insides to the pinnacle of tautness, stretching out Magnus as tight as possible until he got a terse taste for impossible and just went _sn-snap._

And broke.

As fickle and fragile as glass, painful to touch when one attempted to fix him while Magnus caused them to bleed and feel agony for even trying to help find all those missing shards of his soul let alone mend him back together.

                  However Alec wasn’t recuperating all those broken pieces of Magnus, wasn’t fixing him up with those old memories or healing him like he thought he needed in order to be whole again. Instead, Alec was rewriting all over those scars that were never going to disappear, littering his influence over them so Magnus learnt to not forget but _accept_ , no matter how acquiescent.

                  _There’s nothing ugly about you_.

                 And Magnus was beginning to believe that.

                  The sweat of a day’s work salted Alec’s skin where Magnus had briefly pressed a kiss to his nape, all the while inhaling that distinct scent that feverishly burnt like incense the closer he got. He wondered whether his facial hair irritated or tickled Alec, but if it was any confirmation for his boyfriend’s feelings on the subject, Magnus supposed Alec very much liked it as he never disregarded the way the shadowhunter’s eyes lingered on the mornings when he would clean up the anchor shape. Perhaps Alec simply enjoyed the coarse brush of stubble when they kissed, relished in the disparate texture in comparison to the smoothness of Magnus’ skin. And maybe Magnus was overthinking this just a little bit.

                  “I should really take a shower,” Alec said conversationally, shifting a little underneath parts of Magnus.

                  Though the close heat of Alec’s body was too lovely to relinquish just yet so Magnus nuzzled into him, a rather petulant reaction that he wouldn’t have dared to act out earlier into their relationship. There was a clear line between charisma and desperate pining. “Mhmm, wait a while longer. I’m too stuffed to move.”

                  Alec’s chest rumbled with amicable laughter. “Yes, yes, okay. You needy warlock.”

                  “Alexander, what do you think about cats?” Magnus asked, brown eyes blinking ponderingly into Alec’s.

                  “Cats?”

                  Magnus nodded, his chin rubbing against Alec’s naked collarbone, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt that was now exposing his hipbone. He traced abstract shapes into the pale skin, Magnus’ finger like a paintbrush that was bespattered in invisible ink as they etched their signet all over.

Intimacy for Magnus could come in small, ordinary packages like this one, where he’d simply be pressing skin to skin absent of sensual incentive. It bore a warm weight within him that anchored down all worldly inhibitions elsewhere and highlighted the solace Magnus found in Alec. A little home they built together, all nails and plaster and hard work but fuck did it all pay off.

Like a feline, Magnus was unusually perceptive and it was a quality he wondered whether he inherited from his warlock mark or simply something he had trained himself to do over the centuries. But in the heat of Alec’s body, his guard was jettisoned and his mind was a freewheeling cloud of bliss so it took him by greater surprise when the atmosphere suddenly crumpled. The bad world outside usurping Magnus’ inner cove of heaven.

It was at times like this when Magnus wondered whether love was really something to fight tooth and nail for. To give yourself up for love was chivalrous but there was a reason it belonged in tragedies.

And dear god in heaven and hell did Magnus know sad stories like the back of his hand.

“Uh, you know how there’s been those shadowhunter attacks- the Phantom Feeford?”

Airy hands began to pry Magnus away from the comfort of Alec despite the fact that he was still physically close to him, like he was suddenly experiencing it all as an astral body floating around. Not there, not really. The hands began to fix together his walls back again, and Magnus stiffened only slightly as he carried on with the conversation nonchalantly:

“I remember. Dear biscuit thought of the name.”

Alec swallowed and Magnus’ eyes followed the grating movement of his adam’s apple against his pale throat, scarce from scars except from the deflect rune that exhibited his heritage like a flag. Magnus had seen Alec bleeding and unconscious, even on the brink of death but his iratze diminished all evidence of that from his physiology and instead made those memories a heavy weight inside him, barred from onlookers and like that Magnus thought they were similar. From first hand, he knew this frustration that would sometimes come up for air was warranted because Alec had felt the same with him.

“Yeah, Izzy figured out the attacks came from a warlock.”

Magnus retained his posture on top of Alec, eyes staring down into his like predator before prey. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

A barrage of questions hung dry in the air but Magnus wasn’t going to goad any of them out of Alec. That wasn’t what he was there for.

_Do you know the warlock who did it?_

_Are you keeping secrets from me about this?_

_DID YOU DO IT?_

But his obstinacy was as defined as the bones that structured Magnus’ anatomy, as was Alec’s so those sentences wouldn’t be asked or answered.

“I can come by the Institute tomorrow. Read the energy signature.”

Alec’s hand was a chill that ran through his body as his fingers weaved in and out of the product gelling Magnus’ hair. “That’d be helpful, thanks Magnus. We can go in together.”

“How romantic.”

 

***

_Cascais._

_It was hot, sweltering heat that drenched your skin in sweat so fast you were forever balancing between being obnoxiously damp and chilled. Magnus realised that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and that the sun was a constant beating drum on his back, face and torso like it was all encompassing, observing and illuminating his every move. He couldn’t escape._

_“I don’t know what you see in him.”_

_“Ragnor,” breathed Magnus as his friend sat next to him, hollowing ditches in the sand where he sat and burrowed his bare feet into._

_The presence of Ragnor was enough of a comfort to ignore the blistering heat even though Magnus felt hotter at the sight of him wearing a knitted sweater and scarf. The Englishman looked out at the horizon, watched the ripples of waves that came at a gradual speed. “Magnus, why must it be a shadowhunter?”_

_“Huh?”_

_But Ragnor was unrelenting, insistent in his speech like a tape without a stop button. Pre-recorded and automatic. He abruptly spun in his seat, sending sand and dust residue everywhere as he latched onto Magnus’ hands, tightly. “The shadowhunters have tortured and killed many of us. Pilfered our marks for their spoils of war. Call us half-breeds and treat us like second-class citizens. We aren’t their allies. You and me, we’re just in their way.”_

_Magnus thought he could feel pain from the unbearable death-like vice Ragnor had on him but his nerves didn’t dance a motif of hurt; only sang in unison to his words like they agreed with them. Like the intensity of Ragnor’s words were transmitted through his grasp, getting tighter and tighter in accordance to the fervent staunchness behind them._

_“But Ragnor, I love him. I love Alexander-“_

_Laughter as shrill as nails on a chalkboard yet holding that bark of familiarity rattled the hot air around them, Ragnor’s giggles dripping with derisive venom that stained Magnus’ skin dark and colourless and he sought to scrub his skin clean but his dear friend wouldn’t let go. Tighter and tighter._

_“Love is not something that exists for us, not with them! Don’t you see? Magnus, listen to me. We’re demons, those angels don’t deserve us.”_

_And Ragnor’s clutch only squeezed persistently tighter sending wave after wave of nausea through Magnus and like whiplash he was slapped with something cold in that hot place that burned his skin like the sun was right there._

_Tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe-_

 

Magnus didn’t have nightmares often, at least not the ones that vigorously wrenched him out of his comatose state and thrust him into a torrent of pants, sweat and parched lips. Unconsciously, he felt for the body beside him and relished in the cool contact that spread across his hand as he nestled closer despite the heat.

                  Alec’s body radiated heat like the sun itself, as did any other human did but somehow it was cooler than Magnus himself so he snuggled closer and listened to his soft snores- _I love you_ \- until slumber subjugated him again.

 

***

Alec wasn’t imperceptible. He couldn’t be, that’d just emasculate his title as head of the institute. What was a leader if they weren’t aware of their surroundings? So he didn’t disregard the almost indiscernible shift in Magnus’ mood when he bought up the Phantom Feeford’s identity, kept that scene alive in his unzipped pocket in the hopes of a second chance to evaluate it.

                  Tension wasn’t unprecedented, in fact Alec expected some sort of outward backlash and perhaps that would have been preferred because now as he watched Magnus touch up on the flick of his eyeliner, he couldn’t see past yesterdays unfinished business.

                  It was arduous to maintain a professional relationship with the man Alec was in love with. Having to tiptoe around Magnus was virtually impudent because it implied that Alec couldn’t entirely trust him but that wasn’t the case- he just didn’t want to _raze_ the trust, maim it to feeble shreds as if it were an ailed animal. He found that a concise approach was the most appealing way to go about things, since sugar coating didn’t bode well with cryptic warlocks who were bound to be accustomed to the latter.

                  “Ready to go?” Magnus called out from the dressing table, sliding the chair in with a swift flick of his index finger.

                  “Yeah,” replied Alec as he secured his quiver strap on his back, ambling towards Magnus who was already ripping apart dimensions with coiling movements from his hands to open up a portal to the institute.

                  Like the gentleman he was, Magnus motioned for Alec to go first with flourishing salutations and the shadowhunter crept into the psychedelic tempest of magic with a chuckle on his lips. The journey of a portal spanned over a millisecond, spreading the time as thin as butter to bread so it felt as though it took longer than it actually did. At least it did for Alec who assumed he personally should have grown accustomed to the instant transportation given how many times he had been involved in them. Having a warlock boyfriend definitely came with its perks.

                  Strings of fluorescent hues flickered like a malfunctioning light off into the course of the air as the portal vanished, Alec’s feet landing in the closed closet of his office. He must have thought of the place by habit rather than immediately summon their presence in the lab where Isabelle was sure to be waiting.

                  And the curtness of Magnus’ strides relayed that he didn’t want to keep her waiting as he began the walk downstairs but without rational thought, Alec reached out and wrapped his large hand around Magnus’ bicep to halt his amble, and before the man could speculate the impromptu interim Alec kissed him to swallow up the impending words.

                  Magnus’ lips were as soft as they always were, pliant in the way they accepted Alec’s advances further into his mouth and endorsed the reciprocations of breath. It was a seed of warmth that had planted inside Alec at the start, gradually cultivating into whatever sort of unknown species as he grew in intimacy with Magnus, sharing and relating and learning. The rough texture of his facial hair brushing his face only encouraged Alec, reassuring him that he could potentially get closer- close enough that he feel the grating of bone on bone, and blood and souls.

                  On the semblance, the kiss was nothing but a sweet gesture between lovers though there was a latent sense of urgency lining the insistence of prolonging it. Maybe with it, Alec was trying to convey something he couldn’t quite put into words or perhaps he didn’t know _what_ to do.

                  Alec’s arachnodactyly fingers followed an inconsequential path down Magnus’ back, the fine wool blazer a lenient surface to explore as they walked down to hook themselves in the cavity of his belt loops. During the kiss, their bodies had polarised like magnets and slotted together in that familiar stance, assuaging Alec’s need to always be a steadfast fissure in Magnus’ space. And Magnus welcomed the intrusion, fingers finding a home where they wove an illusionary thread in and out of Alec’s dark hair, musing the locks into weak knots that he subsequently unfurled.

                  Every lick of tongue and graze of teeth was a singeing wire of electricity powered by desire, circuited alongside the veins in Alec’s body and infinitely connecting. He couldn’t tell where it started or ended but it didn’t matter for Alec felt the pleasure burn each inch of him like he was already standing in the hellfire.

                  Newly blossomed roses blotched Alec’s cheeks when the kiss ended, breathless and staring at the abstruse smile creasing Magnus’ lips, wondering and reaching for that intangible answer that lay deep within him, cocooned by his epidermis and barred by white bones.

                  “What was that for?” Magnus inquired, tone a harmony of bliss contentment.

                  Alec gulped. “Just because.”

                  “ _Just because_?”

                  “Yeah.”

                  “Okay.”

                  “Ok.”

                  There was no mistaking the way Magnus walked in closer proximity than necessary, the broad cut of his shoulders nudging against Alec’s as they headed to their destination. And Alec hoped he wouldn’t stumble as he constantly glanced at the ringed hand dancing beside his hip, unclaimed and free. His own fingers itched to intertwine with Magnus’ brown ones, feel the undulations of jewellery depress his skin and the searing warmth of Magnus’ palm like Alec held the earth’s core in his hand.

                  Something preciously nonpareil yet agonizingly unreachable.

                  Before they entered the room, the smell of medicine drenching the particles and the chill of a freezer causing the hairs on Alec’s arms to rouse, the man said, “Chairman Meow is a stupid name for a cat.”

                  The incongruous subject made Magnus stop in his motion of opening the door and look at Alec with narrowing eyes that failed to hit its mark for the amused smile quivering the shape of his lips delivered otherwise, as he just replied, “purr-haps,” and proceeded with his initial plan.

                  Isabelle wore a white lab coat over her tight jeans, currently fiddling with something Alec probably couldn’t pronounce under a microscope when she turned around in her seat at the sense of them approaching. Her large dark eyes held an accusatory shine as she surveyed the pair. “You’re late.”

                  “Ah, right sorry about that, Izzy. I just had to sign something at the office,” Alec lied while Magnus inspected a sharp instrument, turning it over in his hands.

                  There was a stuffy silence before the harsh glint in her eyes dimmed and a smirk played about her lips. “Right. Your shirt’s inside out, brother.”

                  Immediately, Alec fumbled to fix his appearance when he stopped at the sound of Isabelle’s laughter and found that her observation to be false. So as much as he kicked himself for falling for her baiting, he figured that perhaps he should just ignore the fact that it even happened in the first place.

Yes, it never happened. What even was the _it_?

“Hey Magnus. You doing alright?”

While Isabelle explained her findings to Magnus, Alec’s arms hung behind his back as he nodded a greeting to the other shadowhunter in the room, Denny, the latest victim. The Phantom Feeford didn’t always kill their target, which only further created dissonance in the investigation when figuring out the incentive behind the attacks. If they didn’t want to kill, then why hurt at all? What sort of message was the Phantom Feeford trying to show? Alec didn’t know but as the head of the institute and the Clave an insistent shit on the floor he walked on, he had to find out. And fast.

Alec stood straight, waiting, while Magnus called upon his magic to examine Denny’s arm that was unblemished of physical injury but carrying a covert scar. An ashy plume of light blue magic caressed Denny’s limb as Magnus focussed on the intricacies that came with whatever he was doing and only when an uncharacteristic gasp left his mouth did the others react.

“What?” Isabelle questioned evidently fascinated yet concerned by the abrupt end. “What did you find?”

“Is there something wrong with me?” Denny asked, a hint of fear in his voice as he peered up at Magnus with widened eyes. “ _Am I gonna die_?”

The desperate inquiry seemed to forcedly tear Magnus out from his private daze, his kohl-lined lids blinking rapidly as he attempted to wipe away the nebula for a momentary respite. “Oh Denny, you’re in perfect condition. A one hundred percent healthy ball of shadowhunter.”

“Denny, you can go now. Thank you.” Alec was dismissive, a wave of reassurance brightening the dread on Denny’s face as the doom of his instant death became short of truth and he went, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving behind the siblings and the timeless warlock.

Magnus was staring at his palms, his eyes unblinking and unusually tight in the way they creased the lines of his face. He was muttering something under his breath, too quiet for either Isabelle or Alec to hear but the clinical state he was wielding was worrisome. Extremely so. Alec yearned to crush the discomfort into ashes, grind it into dust between his teeth and step on it.

Isabelle was the first to approach Magnus, her hand a quiet consolation on his shoulder, pushing the devil off it. “Magnus?”

“Tarek,” whispered Magnus in a voice so distant he could have been a thousand miles away. “Tarek Amal is the one behind these attacks. The Phantom Feeford.”

She nodded and thanked him, her other hand coming to rest on Magnus’ outstretched one. “Come sit down for a while. I’ll do some recon.”

“No- I don’t need-“

“Magnus,” Isabelle insisted sternly, though her arms were gentle as she guided him to the chair she initially occupied. “Just for a second. Just rest.”

Magnus’ eyes were a shield made out of the hardest material, limiting further access into his fortress of thoughts and feelings and he acquiesced to Isabelle’s request without another objection. She leant down and muttered something to him but Alec couldn’t hear it from where he stood, was unfocussed on his sister’s words and instead attuned to Magnus’ strained posture. He could faintly smell the scent of burnt sugar, the remnants of magic wafting in the air battling the medicinal aroma for dominance and apart from Isabelle’s hushed talk, it was eerily silent.

Isabelle’s heeled boots were a jarring cacophony when she left the room but the formidable look in her eyes as she passed Alec was pandemonium, a silent conversation between siblings that he couldn’t do anything but listen to.

There was no denying that Alec was pondering exactly who this Tarek person was to Magnus, to have such a powerful, naked reaction yanked out of him into the open- _was he a former lover?_ when he was otherwise so reserved about things like this because it was a weakness. And weaknesses showed that you were vulnerable, which Magnus wanted to be anything but.

Alec didn’t think he could ever begin to understand the centuries of emotional turmoil that curbed Magnus’ movements, words and feelings. That he could ever bear to hear memory after memory, even for a loved one. It would take a terrible toll on him but that only cemented how despicably effective it was against Magnus and Alec could only sympathise as a current outsider at how this wonderful, wonderful man carried on despite the world’s opposition. At how Magnus took reign of his own life and persevered, even if only subconsciously, he had that instinctive drive to survive. Like the rest of them, like Alec.

But now Alec’s survival was not mutually exclusive to Magnus’ survival.

The shadowhunter walked inaudible steps harmonious to an assassin’s and Alec thought it had always been that way, that he had never made a sound, past through life unnoticed. “Magnus?”

Magnus didn’t show any inclination that he had disregarded Alec’s presence, forgot that he was there and the quiet, thick, “ _Alexander_ ,” that left his parched lips was like the sharpest point of a dagger puncturing insistent holes into Alec’s heart, spilling his scarlet blood like hot magma burning those who touched.

“I don’t…” Alec trailed off lamely, voice something exasperatingly vacuous in his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dark brown eyes looked at him, black holes of emotional emptiness that couldn’t be defined because that brought about vitality to it all and at times like this, Alec knew Magnus _didn’t want to feel_.

Anything.

Nothing.

Which was the opposite for Alec who had to quell that unhealthy bout of jealousy that came with his lack of knowledge on Magnus’ history, the concern that made his fingers tremble and the strict authoritative stance that straightened his back to one fit for a soldier. A leader.

“Then Magnus as the high warlock of Brooklyn, your assistance will be highly appreciated in this case,” Alec informed, a hard layer of metal weighing down his tongue and tasting acrid. “I want to be assured that I have your full cooperation for this. Do I?”

Even though it wasn’t what Alec wanted to say, dear god _no_. He wanted to pry open Magnus’ walls, crumble his façade to dust and wrap him up tightly in his arms, squeeze him close and promise to never let go. And that he was there, whether Magnus was ready to talk or not. To just be there because that’s what they did for each other, what they were _meant_ to be doing.

Magnus stared past him when he answered and Alec didn’t blame him.

“Yes.”

                 And Alec was a fool for ever thinking that surviving with Magnus was going to be easy.

 

***

“Established companionable warlocks share a stronger bond,” explained Magnus within the walls of Alec’s office, seated on one of the sofas. “We can sense one another’s spiritual energy despite distance. It’s a sort of transcendent connection that allows either to know when the other has passed.”

                  Clary chirped up beside Magnus. “Like the red string of fate?”

                  “In a physical sense, yes,” Magnus elucidated, placing his teacup down without a sound. “We’re joined together albeit being wholly autonomous. But it’s not in an emotional sense.”

                  Jace was behind Clary, his hands a bleeding warmth on her shoulders despite the leather. “So it’s like a diluted parabatai bond?”

                  “Yes,” Magnus grinned.

                  Alec was standing by the mantle; arms curled behind his back as he listened to the on going conversation take place, taking in the ease in which Magnus presented himself in a completely different mien from under an hour ago. His eyes had lost that wistful gleam, ringed hands casually stationary and voice ringing that usual “ _Magnus Bane_ ” lilt. Apart from Isabelle, only Alec knew how wrecked Magnus was really feeling- but he couldn’t do anything about that.

                  Business came first.

                  “So what now?” Alec asked finally, staring entirely at Magnus. “Tarek must be stopped as soon as possible.”

                  Magnus didn’t look at Alec directly; only graze his eyes over him as he surveyed the rest of the people in the room. “Right, as I was saying, with this strengthened bond between Tarek and I, I’ll be able to find him in no time. So when all your factions are armed and ready, call me.”

                  Talk scuttled between the few shadowhunters present in the head’s office and in the midst of it, Alec noticed Magnus’ motion of departure and his own feet were moving towards him before he knew it. He reached Magnus easily with his long strides and after a drawn out beaten second, Magnus came to a stop. “You’re ready? That was fast, even for a shadowhunter.”

                  “ _Magnus_ ,” Alec inched closer, desperation bleeding from his fingertips as they scrambled to touch and feel the man in front of him. “I don’t know how much Tarek means to you- I don’t need to. But, thank you.”

                  A flicker of emotions made the brown in Magnus’ eyes glint gold, his demonic heritage teasing the world of its presence. “Whether or not I knew him, none of that matters. Tarek is a murderer. It’s all in the name of justice to put him down.”

                  “Yes. Justice.”

                  It was painfully awkward how the atmosphere was structured to somehow impede Alec from really reaching out to Magnus, because even though he could physically do it- a sort of thick wall stymied his movements. He wondered briefly if it was magic and swept away any confirmations that it potentially could be.

                  “I want to rest before this, so I should really be-“

                  “My room,” Alec hastily offered, because this time words spoke louder than actions. “You remember where it is? You can stay there, until we need you.”

                  “I remember.”

                  If Magnus had painstakingly refused Alec’s proposal then he would really be at a lost, like a naïve runt duckling. But Alec knew that Magnus didn’t centralise his disconcertment upon him, it was burgeoned across the entire branches of the situation and as the head of the institute, Alec had to ensure personal feelings didn’t perturb it all, which he could do, _was doing_. Though as Magnus’ boyfriend, Alec yearned to be there as a mediator in his downpour of despondency, sluice away all disquietude with a showering of love but Alec didn’t know how to talk if Magnus didn’t want to talk back.

                  Didn’t know how to be there for someone who didn’t want him.

                  _Need me._

_I’m begging you, on my hands and knees_

_for you to want me_

_as I am._

 

***

The elite party of shadowhunters was relatively small, divided into pairs with activated runes to augment their senses and weapons armed at their hips. Magnus only summoned a tailored overcoat to substitute his current one, for its assets were more befitting to the outside than indoors. He was watching as the shadowhunters entered his portal in their assigned groups, guided by his connection to send them to the correct destination and therefore assume the strategic formation already planned ahead.

                  If everything went according to plan, then there shouldn’t be any need for extraneous effort on Magnus’ behalf to restrain Tarek. They should be able to convict him easily enough, what with the evidence they had at their heed- and Magnus was there. Tarek always listened to him.

                  Beside him, Alec was a tall, solid loom of flesh and they only had to glance at each other after Isabelle and Clary disappeared into the portal to do the same.

                  He felt the structure of the portal gently leave his core, dispersing into the course of the wind and migrate its way into someone else’s magical hands. Magic didn’t just materialise and vanish like many presumed, it was home to a circle of recycling. It was shared between magical beings, a rather intimate thing, thought Magnus but he guessed that was what made it special in a way. That he was never fighting alone.

                  It hit Alec before it got to him. The deep, gnawing of sharp teeth at his soul that _something was very, very wrong_.

                  “Where’s everyone?” asked Alec, his tone a rigid harmony of repressed frustration and bleeding confusion. His eyes were darting across the vacant space of land covered with dead grass. “Did the portal malfunction or something?”

                  Magnus shook his head, incredulity colouring his voice. “No. Everything was fine, my magic’s fine. I don’t know why no one else is here-“

                  Then he could smell it. The magic.

                  To others, magic was a sweet, beguiling scent that came with the temptation of being a demon but warlocks could differentiate between the origins of it, if they were bothered to. But Magnus had lived for several centuries so it was really a matter that he was externally taught the ability rather than personally sought out the knowledge himself.

                  This magic smelt like lurid yellow, an imitation of the sun’s hues that were soiled by the dark incentive behind it. Magnus felt that alarming lurch in his stomach, instinctively clutching Alec’s hand to hold him back- _to keep himself grounded_.

                  “Don’t move,” Magnus ordered, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation and Alec’s hand tightened in his grip. “Just give me a second to figure this out.”

                  “Well, how much time do we have?” Alec said not unkindly but the exasperation was there and only served to further frustrate Magnus. “For all we know, Izzy and Jace and Clary, everyone could just be lost in dimensions or somewhere else altogether-“

                  Magnus swallowed, ebbing the contrite of failure away, He didn’t need this, not now. “Your parabatai bond. It’s still there isn’t it? We just have to bank on that that everyone is alive- maybe not fine, but they’re alive.”

                  Alec’s calloused hand shook in his, transmitting the vexation of the situation but he didn’t let go and Magnus didn’t think he could concentrate if he had. He felt the long fingers press lines into his skin, the cool touch an insistent reminder that Alec was there. With renewed focus, Magnus searched with warlock eyes to unravel the enchantment that alerted his instincts to not advance, to tear away at the shrubs of ethers and envision the magical blueprint of the spell.

                  “It’s some sort of misdirection ward,” Magnus declared, picking apart the labyrinth of entwined charms to find clarity. “My portal must have set it off, what with the concept of transportation. Everyone should be somewhere, _here_ …probably too far for them to hear us though.”

                  With a drawn out sigh that eliminated clouds of irritation, Alec leaned into Magnus. “Magic should come with clear cut out instructions.”

                  “You mean like a spell book?”

                  “Shut up, smartass.”

                  Joviality aside, Alec seemed to relax into a state of rational functionality, which was evidently beneficial for Magnus as he attempted to figure out what was happening. He had tracked Tarek here, at this abandoned piece of farmland but corporeality was currently nowhere to be found.

                  A stream of disappointment flowed through him at the fact that Tarek wasn’t here, despite Magnus’ motives, he would have seen him. Perhaps even hugged him, or ruffled that nest of dark curls atop his head like he always did before. He wondered vaguely whether Tarek had gained muscle or remained gangly thin with unusually large feet, his peacock feathered legs and that voice of his that seemed to only half-break. Magnus hoped that he had the same laugh, the one where Magnus would relentlessly tickles his sides and Tarek would burst into peals of laughter, so carefree and high. A sound so lovely that it ached Magnus’ weary bones not to hear it.

                  Sneaking a glimpse at Alec, Magnus pondered on how much he depended on this man who knew nothing about him. How much the both of them yearned for each other and made up one another’s lifeline, developing something so dangerously beautiful. But selfish as it may be, Magnus didn’t want to let go- of Alec.

                  He needed him.

                  _I need you_.

                  But the world didn’t care.

                  Abruptly, Alec’s grip was like death’s touch as pain shot through Magnus’ arm but the indignation died on his lips when he figured out what notified his boyfriend. Or rather, _who_.

                  A blonde haired man materialised a few metres away from the pair, as tall as Magnus and clad in a crisp bottle green suit tailored to his wiry stature. He had something with a snatch of colour beneath his oxford shoes and appeared rather incongruous to the environments setting, his opulent watch glinting as he tucked a lock of hair behind his small ears.

                  “It’s been a while, Magnus Bane.”

                  Magnus was hit with gross familiarity at the man before him, the presence of Alec barely holding him at bay from completely shattering. “Not long enough, if you’ll pardon me from saying. Charles Highwarton.”

                  Charles’ thin lips twitched and his eyes that were an odd shade of green clashing greatly against his suit, narrowed. Magnus distantly remembered how no matter what colour Charles wore, how many they searched for and crafted, nothing ever could complement him quite right. The memory would have made him laugh in nostalgia under different circumstances.

                  Then as if wearing a different face, Charles’ face broke into amusement as he chuckled. “Always been a man of great provocation, Magnus. Does it make me a little degenerative if I say I’ve missed it?”

                  “What is this all about, Charles? I hardly think you’ve missed me this much.”

                  The hand in his was clammy, squeezing impossibly tighter before Magnus chanced a glance at Alec whose naturally pale skin had become a white sheet of fine paper; dangerously translucent that Magnus felt inclined to follow his trajectory of sight to the ground.

                  _Dear god why?_

                  Magnus briefly wondered why he hadn’t acknowledged the entire scene but perhaps he had and his poor mind had confined parts of it away behind an encrypted file in his head. That he had seen him but simultaneously chose not to see him.

                  _Alexander I want to go home_.

                  Alec had already deglamoured his bow and gave a final stroke of his fingers across Magnus’ hand before pulling it away, leaving the latter to clench around nothing. Magnus felt Alec’s movements beside him, the familiar pivot of his arm retrieving a runic arrow and professionally slotting it into the rest, prepared to shoot under a seconds notice. The breach of loneliness was a heavy weight within him, now that he couldn’t hold Alec’s hand, which was crazy, Magnus knew. He knew.

                  Even though the ambiance was never safe, now it had fallen into an irrevocable abyss of peril, the inclinations of survival at highest priority for all. It was as if being in a box with limited oxygen, Magnus’ lungs clambering for vitality that wasn’t going to come because what was the point anymore? He’d never be able to live happily without sacrifices and Magnus was a fool for thinking that.

                  It was never going to be an easy path to take, the one with Alec by his side since star-crossed lovers were impossible for a reason.

                  The cost of loving someone you shouldn’t be with was like one trying to swim in an ocean when they didn’t know how, and perhaps at some points they’d thought they got the hang of it only to be throw back to the beginning when a wave washed over them. Like reaching for something unreachable. However, Magnus didn’t know what he was evenreaching for.

                  “Did you do this?” Alec asked firmly, the pull of his bow a reedy sound as it geared itself for relinquishment.

                  Charles, as if detecting Alec for the first time, studied him with a quirked eyebrow and Magnus wished to cloak himself all over Alec, shelter and protect him from the rest of the world. But Magnus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body on the floor, the sickening stretch of the spine awkward and face so filthy with dried mud and crusty blood. The curly hair was longer than Magnus recalled but flattened like someone had repeatedly stepped on his head and the grotesque image made Magnus retch. And his once so wonderfully groomed peacock feathers appeared flightless and frail.

                  _Oh, my beautiful boy_.

                  _I’m sorry_.

                  His bones were shaking within his skin as if cold and Magnus didn’t know how to stop it. Oh, he was scared. Magnus was scared, oh so scared. For himself, for Alec. For Tarek who lay as still as anything, the little warlock boy he picked up from the streets over centuries ago- dead. Dead. Dead.

                  Dead.

                  “Aha?” Charles sang, mouth creasing as his tongue darted out, an inky, black slimy muscle with a forked end, slicing through the air like a dagger. “Smells like a shadowhunter. I thought they weren’t your style?”

                  As if melancholy were a thing of the past, Magnus bristled and seethed, “you don’t get to talk about Alexander. Why did you kill Tarek?”

                  “ _Alexander_ ,” Charles hummed, dragging the syllables out like a cat’s purr and running his serpent tongue along his bottom lip. “Sounds regal, but then again you know all about royalty, don’t you Magnus?”

                  “Don’t-“

                  “Daddy dearest is waiting on his throne for you-“

                  “Shut up, shut up!”

                  “Naughty boys deserve to be punished, he said. So I took it upon myself to fulfil that act. Enlighten me, how do you feel knowing that I used and abused your street rat? You must tell me, Magnus! Were you angry when you thought Tarek turned out to be a murderer? It was only a matter of time, really, _if he was raised by you_ -“

                  The arrow soared at a rapid speed as if motivated by the multitude of lightening towards its target, marring particles and leaving behind a whistling sound of someone crying. It carried with it the force of a powerful shadowhunter, the deftness of their disfigured fingers and outpouring of emotions into one single lance. As if hit with the recoil of the action, Magnus stumbled backwards on his feet and felt Alec’s arm wrap around his waist in order to steady him. He noticed that Alec’s hand was bleeding, as if he had cut himself from holding his weapon too tight.

                  _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

                  Everything was falling apart, too fast that Magnus couldn’t fix any of it.

                  A scent of smoke bled throughout the atmosphere, colouring the oxygen Magnus inhaled murky grey as he watched the arrow Alec had aimed at Charles’ heart crumble away in increments, debris finding a home on top of Tarek like he was of equivocal value. And it made Magnus want to scream.

                  Charles let his hand fall back to his side; bright eyes locked on Alec like an inexorable predator who was tired of waiting. “That was audacious. You should really discipline your pets, Magnus. It’s rather disreputable on your part, given your dynasty.”

                  “You- _what happened to you_?” Magnus exclaimed, pulling away from Alec’s clutch because the deep-rooted anger boiling in his blood was getting too hot to bear. It was burning him from the inside, like his own personal hell. “Acting like his lapdog, you should know better than to forsake your soul to the devil.”

                  Low-levelled spirals of wind danced at Magnus’ feet, a poor attempt to make him fall but he could deduce the undertone of a warning influencing Charles’ magic. He glimpsed back at Alec inches behind him, feet staunchly burrowed into the dead land, gripping his bow with bloody hands and god, Magnus just wanted to take Alec and run away. If only Alec wasn’t here, to see this, to hear it all- _to see Magnus like this_. _If only Alec wasn’t here_.

                  _I’m not going anywhere._

_I’m not going anywhere._

                  _I don’t want you here._

_I’m not going anywhere._

                  “Talking like you know everything about me- you know nothing! You know nothing about me, Magnus!” Charles snarled, a dark fury colouring his voice to a deep, abysmal baritone. “You seem to forget that you abandoned me-“

                  “I never abandoned-“

                  “You abandoned Tarek!”

                  “ _No_! I didn’t-“

                  Swiftly, Charles turned to Alec. “And he’ll abandon you, shadowhunter. This man, he’ll leave you one day and never look back. He doesn’t love you and never will, _he’s incapable_ -“

                  “Don’t decide Magnus’ feelings like they’re your own, “ Alec interceded, a heavy weight weighing down the underlying rage of emotions bubbling beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to breathe. “I love him, always. No matter what.”

                  Like the calm before a storm, Charles’ shoulders suddenly relaxed like he dropped a ton of weight, gleaming eyes dimming while he nodded to himself. “Right, right. Magnus is a romantic, so he loves that sort of stuff, y’know? But his father, you see, he hates it. So I do too. He hates how much his son fucks around and now- _now_ it’s with you. _A shadowhunter_! Damn, it’s actually kinda funny now that I really consider it. Hey Magnus, you must really hate your dad, huh? But this, this won’t do, _nonono_ …”

                  It was like watching a bomb ticking away, as if Magnus was observing the depleting time until it hit zero and cruelly bracing himself for the imminent explosion. His heart moved in a sickening rhythm, scrambling around his insides like one did to cake batter in a mixing bowl and beating him down into pliable smoothness to rid him of all autonomy.

                  “ _Magnus_.” Alec’s whisper was a gentle kiss to Magnus’ ears and it made him shudder despite it all. “We gotta go.”

                  _I know, darling. I know. You need to go._

                  Alec didn’t have to be here for all this despicable unravelling of Magnus’ past, to hear his history like he was reading from a textbook and judge him. Magnus’ didn’t need that, didn’t want that. To get Alec away from here, from all of this chaos was all he wanted. But the scene of a bit of his dead history on the ground kept him there because fuck, Magnus was drowning in sorrow and guilt and dormant rage that came with losing a loved one.

                  Because once again.

                  Magnus didn’t do a single fucking thing.

                  Magnus killed Tarek.

                  He was a fucking abomination even for a demon.

                  “…So Magnus, let’s go to Edom together.”

                  But then Alec had seized his wrist and was yanking Magnus away with the speed of a shadowhunter, which had Magnus gasping for an iota of breath as he unceremoniously tripped over his heeled boots. It was like flying with your feet still touching the ground, the way Alec moved and it felt alien to Magnus whose cognisance on the matter only reached the swiftness of vampires, but running away with Alec was heterogeneous. Incomparable. Like a fleeting drift akin to the movement of angel wings fluttering through heaven skies.

                  A baby like heartbeat thrummed beneath their feet, a tempest of rumbles and vibrations that quailed in resemblance to the bridge of an earthquake. It caused the both of them to stagger, share a hasty glance between one another before looking behind them. The scent of smoke was putrid, like Magnus had engulfed fifty kindled cigarettes smothered in moonshine ash; the acrid taste a powdery adhesive at the back of his throat that made him wheeze.

Even though hypothetically it wasn’t real considering magic was incorporeal, perhaps the usage of it affected Magnus tenfold because he _understood_ it. And he could hear Charles’ magic chanting, the underlying notion of threats clear in its conviction as it created slits in the air it touched on the way.

“Ahah! No running away.”

The cacophony of the earth splitting was a shrill shriek to Magnus’ ears, the sound so poignant that it unwittingly made him leak tears as the hand holding his wrist stiffened, wiring tension through Magnus’ veins and alerting him of how calamitous this was all starting to become.

Six seconds weren’t enough for Magnus to plan a perfect counterattack but that was all God gave him. Thousands of letters tumbled through his brain, his body raking through the ideas and dismissing the impossible and before his mind caught him, Magnus had let go of Alec’s hand.

                  In accordance to the movement, a pellet of power left Magnus’ palm and moulded to the shape of Alec’s body as it propelled him backwards, thrust him to the other end of the growing crack down the land. And with the same hand, Magnus curled his fingers through the air, grasping and accumulating shreds of magic that went _cracklecrack_ to catch the falling body that was rapidly plummeting towards the synthetic abyss. When the magic connected, Magnus felt the recoil ruthlessly grind his phalanges together, coughing up white dust as he gritted his teeth and _pulled_ , wrenching Tarek out and throwing him haphazardly in the hopes it was somewhat in Alec’s direction.

                  Casting an indulgent look at Alec on the other side of the chasm, Magnus’ cat eyes bled like liquefied gold through the brown irises, bright and brazen. They locked with Alec’s who was saying something, yelling his name and crawling to his knees despite the injuries but Magnus was already circling his finger through the air, gathering protective ethers and crafting a barrier that reflected like window glass to plant near Alec and Tarek, dividing them from Magnus and Charles.

                  Magnus was panting lightly, a smear of sweat beading at his forehead as he wasted a precious second to collect himself, taking in the desperation of Alec’s pleas to aid him as fuel to power on through. If Alec had to be here, as long as he was safe, as long as he didn’t get hurt then Magnus would acquiesce. He was all out of other options; no matter how much he wished to cradle Alec’s face in his hands, outline his eyebrow scar and kiss his pink lips- he _had_ to protect him with absolutely everything he possessed. Magnus wasn’t going to lose Alec too.

He turned back around to the sound of slow claps, moving safely away from the earth’s fissure and surveying Charles who was as near as warlocks positioned themselves in battles, not too close but not too far considering most of them relied on their magic than their fists.

“That was impressive, “ Charles whistled out a praise, flitting his gaze between Alec and Magnus. “Even for someone like you who has his blood running through your veins. Must feel _so_ good.”

Magnus cracked his magic-wielding hand in on itself, mending the disjointed bones with a quick healing spell that he sang in his head. Self-healing magic felt like a non-consensual hug and Magnus was rapacious for wishing that Catarina were there instead to cure him, because her magic was like a massage that wringed out all the tension in your muscles, replenishing it with an endorphin like high that not even wholesome heroin could reach. It was addicting, to be hurt and fixed but he had to settle for this.

“So what, is that it? You framed and killed Tarek just to get me here. Killed innocent people, sent my friends to god knows where and familiarly speak to my boyfriend. All to send me to hell.” Magnus could feel with every passing word the warm bubble of rage ignite at the pit of stomach, spreading like ink of paper throughout his entire body as if caught alight by fire. “ _You fucking warlock_.”

                  Then everything was yellow and smoke.

                  Invectives were exclusive to individual warlocks, some more offensive to others than the rest so it was really Magnus’ initiative that influenced his decision to reiterate Charles of his human-half, something that was the complete opposite in comparison to him. And it was bitter, and self-indulgently provocative and inexcusable but how lovely was it to beat the shit out of someone when they were simultaneously at their highest and lowest. Demons thrived of that kind of stuff.

                  Charles’ wrath coalesced into an outburst of vicious air, feeling like a million snakes that were as sharp as blades slashing Magnus’ clothes and biting into his skin, pin pricking him all over as if he was bathing in a pool of needles. Narrow rivulets of blood painted Magnus’ skin like a bloody canvas, the jarring tang of coppery metal dancing on his taste buds as he blinked around the crimson fluid trickling into the hammock of his eyelashes. Pain burst at the thin seams of his wounds, the wind an insistent sting where it embraced Magnus’ now exposed flesh and he grit his teeth against it, shielding his face with his forearms to attenuate the blows. It wouldn’t do much if Magnus got more blood in his eyes after all.  

                  He wondered at the back of his mind if Alec was watching all this play out, considering Magnus couldn’t hear him over the buffeting wind sounding like shattering glass in his ears, reedy and shrill. Though there was a sort of twisted invigoration Magnus gained from the potential thought, that Alec was observing the way his hips moved, the way his knees buckled and the flourish of his fingers painting fluorescent hues in the air.

                  _All for you_.

                  “I don’t get you, Magnus,” Charles said in pure confusion, resoundingly slapping his hands together- _smack-_ to vanquish the stabbing wind, providing Magnus with much needed respite. “You’re his son. You could have power, fame, men, women- we’d all worship you- _you could be a fucking god_! And still, you refuse. Still you disobey your father.”

                  The implication of _him_ was like hammering nails to the bottom of Magnus’ feet and forcing him to walk him on water, adding another when he fell and another and another… Magnus could only prostrate before his father, powerless under his rule and influence, regressing his centuries of living to ultimately act like a child in front of him.

Like Magnus was that naïve little boy all those years ago with frightened cat eyes, the one who had lost his mother to suicide and killed his own step-father with his bare, demonic hands. And he accepted his because he also had blood on his hands.

 _I will always be Asmodeus’ son_.

Magnus couldn’t change his blood.

But maybe, _just maybe_ …

                  Emotion rushed through him and Magnus could feel it singeing his calves, caressing his Achilles tendon before he wrenched it further to the sole of his feet, festering the magic there until he felt the roots of dead trees respond to his calling, gladly bonding with him. Nature was always so kind to him. “I already have everything I need, so tell my father that he can enjoy his time in hell without me.” Then Magnus willed the power forward, digging his boots into the land as tree trunks ruptured through the earth, rapidly surrounding Charles like an imitation of a forest.

                  Magnus thought he heard the hiss of Charles’ tongue before hot, auburn colours coated the bark as a replication of fire and _crackcrackcrackle_. The trees cried out against the action and Magnus could feel it like he was the one on fire, his winces mindlessly brushed away with the wind as he pulsed more magic down his legs in order for the trunks to maintain their formation.

He was already working on another spell, this time gasping enchantments on one of his rings in an archaic language, letting the words roll off his tongue like melted chocolate before Magnus held it in his bloody palm. Suddenly he remembered watching Jace train while waiting for Alec to finish his meeting, observing the way the blonde man deftly threw dagger after dagger right into bulls eye without breaking a sweat. And he presented one to Magnus, the blade gleaming silver against the light like it had just been cleaned but he had refused, not wanting to exert himself on date night but in hindsight perhaps Magnus should have really taken Jace up on his offer.

“Put a foot forward!” Alec shouted from the other side, and though Magnus couldn’t risk glancing back at him, he thought he could imagine the stern militant construction of his expression. The one that soldiers wore. “And throw with the opposite hand!”

Alec’s voice was a divine surprise that breached his concentration but Magnus’ body danced to his instructions, relinquishing the bond between his left foot and the trees in order to move it forward with ease. The ring blazed like his personal sun, a warm bright sphere in Magnus’ palm and time was slipping away as he pitched it towards his target. And like a shooting star, the bewitched ring soared, slicing through particles and leaving behind luminescent dust that charred the grass.

His blood ran hot, dangerously so, heating up in harmony to the increasing use of magic but Magnus had to persevere, ignore the blistering of his skin. He watched as the ring detonated in a flurry of lights, hounding Charles whose voice was a shrill fume through the explosion and Magnus shook himself off the flora magic. His mind was spinning in a tempest of nausea, bile rising up his oesophagus and defying gravity but he couldn’t stop, not now.

Intense magic like the type Magnus was using came with recoil and the fact that he wasn’t resting only meant that his body wasn’t quick enough to catch up, thus causing him greater injury than normal. But Magnus could push himself, further and higher because that’s what he did, though never what he personally perceived himself to be doing. For Magnus, he was _never doing enough_.

With trembling legs, Magnus ran precariously towards the edge of the rift and he waited with bated breath while reminders of tree bark created a path for him to safely walk on, the _cru-crunch_ and _sn-snap_ ’s echoing like broken bones. Alec, realising what Magnus was doing, scampered to the threshold of the barrier and held out a bloody hand that never looked quite so beautiful to the warlock.

Magnus reached for Alec’s hand, the tips of his fingers leading for the barrier to dissolve like salt in water and he could feel the warmth of power enter him through his pores, travelling within his bloodstream to grant him rejuvenation. A quiet sigh left his lips at the feeling, and his own bloody hand met with Alec’s, cold and wet.

He could breathe a little easier now but fervent urgency poured out from him like molten lava running through helpless streets. “Where’s Tarek?”

“Right there. I put him next to me wh-“

 _CRACK_!

It was suddenly too hot and Magnus yearned to rip his clothes off, tear into his skin and watch as vermillion blood spilled out, dig his nails deeper and _deeper_ until the heat subsided and all he could feel was the touch of cold white bones. Charles’ hands were like the flames of hell licking his torso, Magnus’ back raw from plummeting on the ground after being thrown several metres away and the lilting screams that crawled out from his throat were coloured in blood.

“Come on, Magnus!” Charles was straddling him, burning hands spread like wings across Magnus’ abdomen. “I know this isn’t everything. Show me that _pure_ demon blood of yours. Let me see the power of Asmodeus, let me see _you_.”

Whispers of coercion danced at Charles’ fingertips, teasingly tickling at Magnus’ core as if to persuade it to emerge from years of quiescence. It was like Charles was attempting to usurper his body, reaching into Magnus’ inner most private caverns and forcefully delving deeper than he had ever let anyone go. Magnus could feel him defiling his lungs, constricting his throat, penetrating his heart, filling his mind to the brim and causing his insides to spill out as if all Magnus ever knew didn’t have a place in him any longer.

Magnus was writhing, gasping for breath while his fingers tore at the grass beneath him. His skin felt brittle, like rubber being reduced to shavings and bones like delicate china that could shatter from a single touch. There was nothing _protecting_ him now. He felt exposed, beyond his flesh and carcass, Magnus was entirely naked and vulnerable.

Charles’ power was suffocating Magnus, his eyes blown out like he was high and sweat salting his skin as he tried to fight back, to deny Magnus of himself.

_I am you_

_and you are mine_.

                  _Demon_.

                  But Magnus was pleading, begging and crying out- he didn’t want this, didn’t want him, _it_. Magnus was losing control. He felt the pressure of the black-red power beginning to eat him from the inside, ridding Magnus of Magnus but he was shaking, eyes rolling back from constantly rejecting and it was dining on his life like Magnus was it’s last meal.

                  Lurid, garish gold amorphousness was burnt into the back of Magnus’ eyelids like cauterisation and it was all he thought he could see.

                  He was crawling into him, nesting in his skull, ribcage and in between his phalanges, feeding on him like a parasite. Stripping him bare and preparing for his appearance on a silver platter.

                  _Who are you_?

                  Like drowning in an ocean, toes falling off from frostbite, nail plates cleaved from their roots, intermittent heartbeats birthed from exsanguination, vultures slashing into bloody swathes of flesh, savouring and licking lips-

                  _Who is Magnus_?

                  The pressure was crushing him, _smaller_ and smaller was this boy becoming, squeezing his existence into such a severe state of inconsequentiality that he could have been brushed away as easily as wind blew-

                  _DEMON_!

                  _You’re a demon._

_Who am I-_

_Demon. Demon._

_I am-_

_You’re a demon. Demon. Demon! Demon!_

                  _Pain, there was so much pain and tears and she was so scared of him-_

 _DemondemondemonDEMON_!

                  Then Magnus could breathe again. He felt the structure of his entire being patching back up, layers of epidermis enveloping veins and arteries puncturing his heart, bone marrow like white stuffing in teddy bears for his skeleton. His heartbeat had returned, a familiar rhythm that pulsed his nerves to animation and allowed the gears in his brain to _click_ back into place like clockwork.

                  The pressure had gone and the heat was a dull throb within Magnus’ body as he choked on clouds of breath, gracing his lungs and his mind with clarity. Self-control arrived in spastic movements from sprawled limbs and the pain of sore muscles and lacerations were beginning to enticingly lull Magnus to sleep, in an attempt to force him into a dark embrace.

                  However Magnus’ fingers tingled with passive, yet livewire magic, wrenching him out of his position on the ground and tugging him to a lackadaisical sitting one. His body ached and would tremor every few seconds but Magnus just blinked his sight back, cat eyes slitted and seeing.

                  Alec had Charles by the collar, his knuckles raw to the bone as they drummed into the warlock’s face repeatedly and Magnus caught himself in a gasp at the disfiguration of Charles’ features. He could smell crimson blood, the tang of metal at the back of his throat and the raucous sounds of the force behind the punches. It met with repulsive _crunches_ , like stepping on wayward twigs deep in the woods and Magnus strained himself to watch, to clamber to his feet and stagger over. One reluctant, trembling step at a time.

                  His stream of thoughts were muddled but Magnus rubbed the pads of his index fingers and thumbs together, generating a raw slither of magic from within, shrouded in snowballing murderous intent. _Charles_ killed Tarek and shadowhunters, he was the one who sold Magnus out to those demons back in the eighteenth century despite their friendship. Charles was the demon here, _not_ him.

                  _Magnus didn’t do anything wrong_.

                  This was justice.

                  That single statement resonated throughout his every cell as he thrust his magic infused hands into Charles, wringing his intestines dry and splattering blood all over the grass. Charles’ distorted physiology would have deterred most from observing, but Magnus thought he could vaguely sense Alec’s eyes on _him_.

                  He could feel the slick stream of entrails plunging towards the grass in formless splodges as Magnus disembowelled Charles, the ladders of his ribs crumbling into cremated ashes that stained Magnus’ fingers black and grey.

Magnus, at that moment, ignored the things Charles was gasping to him, the words brushed over his ears as easily as he wiped his bloody hands half-clean on his torn jacket and collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

                  _I am not a demon_.

 

***

_There wasn’t much Magnus remembered after he killed Charles._

_He recalled wading through blood and lifeless organs, Jace’s arms carrying him through a portal that smelt like Catarina and wine._

_Magnus recollected the dead stink he carried on his clothes, the stain of his hands red-dark and permanent, and the salt of sweat and tears._

_And Alec’s voice, the sound he drank and drowned himself in as if a parched and starved animal yet was perilously addicted to._

 

***

“I’d never been to a warlock funeral before,” Alec commented, half-empty drink in hand and eyes attuned to every slight pivot of Magnus’ body. “It was- it was beautiful. Really.”

                  Magnus nodded in agreement, sloshing his martini around like a child. “We’re immortal, so if we die- and have a body to say goodbye to, it’s culture to make the ceremony lavish, like a celebration. Warlocks leave a mark in history, so it only makes sense to give them the best even at the end of time.”

                  Alec didn’t feel a fervent answer clambering out from him so he thought it best to retain the silence that followed from Magnus’ side of the conversation, letting the quiet atmosphere stain the particles in tranquillity. He hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Magnus as he would have liked, especially after the events with Charles- considering Alec had to send missives and reports to the Clave about it, ensure the safety of New York and establish his authority within the institute. And things like what happened back at that wasteland, Alec knew enough to deduce that it required timeless time to fix whatever sort of problematic aftermath that came with it, that Magnus was going need time to himself before he would let him in.

                  It was frustrating; and Alec felt the tremor in his bones from it, knowing that he couldn’t just be there to help Magnus. The fact that he even had to, it tasted like acid in his mouth all frothing and bubbling.

                  “How did you know Tarek?”

                  Now the reaction that Alec attained was like a punch in the gut that left him wheezing and breathless because fuck, Magnus looked so sad and wistful and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t bring Tarek back from the dead, couldn’t kill Charles again, Alec couldn’t do anything but try to talk and ease Magnus back to a semblance of normalcy that he could live in even when he was alone.

                  Magnus downed his drink, letting his moistened lips linger on the rim of the glass and breath condense the edges. His voice, though nonchalant was motivated by a sense of raw longing. “I raised him. I picked him up from the streets of Chitral, in India at the time. It was late nineteenth-century; India was dominated by the white man- the British. Then with the addition of the caste system, intertwined with the leading religion, it meant that people like Tarek who were born into a life of vagrancy were going to live a life of the same sort.

                  “So I saw him, the _freak of nature_ they called him what with his leg made out of peacock feathers - and I took him in. He was- Tarek was like my-“

                  As if he had swallowed sandpaper, Magnus’ voice came out raspy and weak while he blanched, taking a few moments to regain his sense of self. Alec reached out at that point, hand caressing reassurance into the posture of Magnus’ back, knocking his knee against his. Sometimes a caring gesture was all someone needed.

                  “ _Tarek was like a son to me_ ,” said Magnus. “I taught him how to be a warlock, his first cytokinesis spell, his first potion, we built his first home together.”

                  Alec shuffled a little closer, sharing warmth. “How was he like? I mean, his personality and such.”

                  There was a moment that Magnus stole to breach past Alec’s own walls and annex his thoughts, but his brown eyes crinkled at the corners to accentuate the full-fledged smile on his face. “Shy. Tarek was extremely shy. He’d never leave my side, always hiding in my coats when I talked to people. But he had the biggest heart to give you, if you got to know him…then he grew up- and with that he grew with confidence.

                  “Y’know, I gave him a birthday because he didn’t remember his. Tarek’s birthday was the third of March, the day I met him. Because I promised him another life.”

                  “You’re a good man, Magnus.” Was all Alec found he could say, relishing in his boyfriend’s memories and loving him even more for them.

                  At that, Magnus turned to look at Alec, really look at him. “Why haven’t you asked me about what Charles said? About me abandoning him? Or Tarek?”

                  “Because you didn’t, Magnus. I know that you would never-“

                  Magnus shook his head, ruefully. “You don’t _know_ me, Alexander.”

                  _There’s so much you don’t know about him_.

                  The blatant realisation of the words rang like alarm bells in Alec’s head, one that he couldn’t turn off. He knew it, had acknowledged it while simultaneously turning a blind eye to it all because of the haunting feeling that it discredited what Alec meant to Magnus. That Alec wasn’t important enough, that Magnus didn’t love him the same way or even enough to want- _need_ to tell Alec all about him.

                  But knowing would just be too easy and Alec knew now that that was deemed impossible with Magnus.

                  So Alec tried, with an anxious plea and desperate hands gripping Magnus’. “Then tell me, Magnus. You _can_ tell me.”

                  “I didn’t abandon him,” Magnus croaked, reciprocating the death-like hold Alec had on his hands with a tight squeeze. “Not any of them. Charles threw our friendship away for power and Tarek, he grew up- and he didn’t need me to hold his hand anymore. I don’t blame him, I can’t.

                  “ _Alexander_ , I don’t leave people. Everyone just ends up leaving me.”

                  It was challenging to find the right words to say to Magnus, and perhaps in retrospect Alec would have phrased his response better- to fit his own personal gain or for Magnus, he didn’t know. But in that moment, all Alec wanted was to show Magnus something different.

                  “I won’t leave you. _Not ever_.”

                  Even though, Alec was lying through his teeth, blood and bones.

                  And Magnus knew he was.

 

***

Magnus ran a ringless hand through Alec’s dark nest of hair before plucking himself out of bed and heading to the bathroom, an enchantment silencing his footsteps so as to not disturb Alec’s sleep.

                  He was confronted with a reflection of himself, a synchronised replication of his face that painted the mirror with human colours. Magnus wondered back to the fact that no one ever really saw themselves, that deep down he didn’t know what he _really_ looked like.

The shape of his lips, the angle of his cheekbones and colour of his eyes- Magnus wasn’t really privy of the facts that made him, _him_.

The reflection smiled but was Magnus really smiling? Was the ache in his jaw a feeling he conditioned himself to affiliate with the action because that was normal, or was it real?

His fingers reached up to touch the mirror, cutting out swathes of his face in the process and Magnus gazed at what stared back at him, the sick, twisted trepidation finally reaching the surface as he accepted its presence in him. That feeling that something was very wrong hadn’t left Magnus, not ever since he stepped foot through his portal to the deserted farmland.

And now it was here, its time of festering up and Magnus could feel it living inside him, could feel that sense of something heavy weighing him down. Magnus thought he saw cat eyes stare back at him through the mirror before it finally talked.

 _Hello son_.

 

 

  
 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> that cliffhanger. ohlalala. may write more. may may. and lol because this was initially meant to be around 3 thousand words and look where how that turned out. ;P
> 
> a thousand kudos' to the one who figures out the (stupid) reason for why the enemy is called "phantom feeford" (also yes i know it's stupid lol, say it enough and you'll get what i mean haha)
> 
> oh magnus. you are a very strong man whose had a lot of shitty shit happen to him and honey alec just wants to be there for you. are you going to let him kinda thing? anyway, warlock magic and their culture is something i definitely want to explore further because hello demons are hella interesting and so is magnus' past because there's hundreds of years in different eras to play with. please discuss this with me, i'm starved.
> 
> also when is someone going to #SaveShadowhunters because we're waiting!!
> 
> twitter - @neeashking
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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